


History of Art

by grantairricade (rachherself)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Teacher AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachherself/pseuds/grantairricade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has no idea how he got this teaching gig. Sure, he’s got a degree in Art History (as well as Studio Art, but that’s what he does on his own time), but he never thought he’d actually get a <i>job</i> with his degree, besides commissions. And he <i>definitely</i> never thought that job would be teaching fifty-odd wide-eyed first years. He remembers when he was that age. It’s vaguely uncomfortable.</p>
<p>But here he is, in the October of his second year of teaching, standing in front of his introductory Art History class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	History of Art

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea, and then people wanted me to write it, so I tried my best.

Grantaire has no idea how he got this teaching gig. Sure, he’s got a degree in Art History (as well as Studio Art, but that’s what he does on his own time), but he never thought he’d actually get a _job_ with his degree, besides commissions. And he _definitely_ never thought that job would be teaching fifty-odd wide-eyed first years. He remembers when he was that age. It’s vaguely uncomfortable.

But here he is, in the October of his second year of teaching, standing in front of his introductory Art History class.

“All right,” he says, clearing his throat. Some of the students are asleep, as usually happens sometimes when he’s got the lights off and is showing slides. Half of the sleepers jerk awake. “For homework, I want you to read those handouts I gave you - the Vasari. You don’t have to commit it to memory, but I _will_ be making references to it in lecture next time!”

Grantaire looks around the room. Most of the students are already packing their bags to leave, although he sees a couple of girls who usually stay after to chat to him about nothing until he dismisses them.

He perches on the edge of his desk to watch the students file out, exchanges a few words with those who stay behind, and then gathers up his papers and his coffee and heads to the staff room.

“Hey! Hey,” he hears from behind him, and Courfeyrac jogs up behind him. He teaches linguistics, and underneath his façade of eternal childlike excitement he’s actually probably one of the smartest people Grantaire knows.

“So I know you’ll hear this later,” Courf continues as they walk, “but Enjolras got another love letter slipped to him in an exam. He texted me about it right after his class. Apparently it’s really raunchy.” He laughs. “I don’t know when these kids will figure out that Enj is basically as celibate as a stone, but for his sake I hope it’s soon.”

Grantaire colours mildly at that, but tries to hide it with a cough and a laugh. “Yeah, well. You know how it is, these girls can’t take no for an answer sometimes.”

Courfeyrac fixes Grantaire with a knowing smirk as he opens the staff room door. “It was a _guy_ this time.”

Grantaire trips over his feet.

* * *

“So, tell us about that letter,” Courfeyrac is saying later, after Enjolras has settled down on the sofa and Grantaire’s been able to down another cup of coffee. “I, for one, want to be spared no detail. Spill.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “You’re just like them, Courf, with your gossip and ‘details’,” he sighs.

Enjolras teaches political science, and is the youngest professor the department has ever had. He’s scarily passionate about it, and he came to work at the university at the same time as Grantaire.

“No, Apollo, please share with the class,” Grantaire says, trying to hide a smile, and Enjolras glares at him for a moment before pulling out the paper.

“Oho,” Feuilly chimes in from across the room, “it’s _pink_.”

Bahorel laughs. “Christ, Enj, I don’t think you’ve ever had someone go to that amount of effort before!”

(Enjolras has received about twenty love letters since he started teaching, an all-time staff record.)

“If you lot say anything further, I won’t read any of it and you’ll never know _exactly_ what, ah, _Raphaël_ said to me.”

Courfeyrac falls silent. Grantaire arches a brow and gives Enjolras an amused half-smile from across the table. Enjolras blushes.

“Actually, Courfeyrac - you can read it. I, uh, need to go photocopy something. Grantaire?”

Grantaire looks up at Enjolras, who has stood up.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Let me just. More coffee,” he explains lamely, and Enjolras nods once and walks briskly out of the room.

“Still haven’t told him about your crush, then?” Grantaire glares at Bahorel, who’s leering wickedly at him from in front of the microwave.

“Shut up,” he mutters, pouring his coffee and walking out of the room.

\----

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Enjolras pants, mouthing at Grantaire’s jaw. “I read that letter and it only made me think about doing those things to _you_.”

Grantaire moans, arching his neck into Enjolras’s kisses. “What - ah, what sorts of things are those?”

They’re in a third floor classroom that hasn’t actually seen a class for a few years - it’s full of broken desks and stacks of chairs, and right now Enjolras has Grantaire pressed against the wall and is proceeding to debauch him thoroughly before either of them have to return to their classes.

Enjolras smiles wickedly, pulling back. “First, he said he’d kiss me, like this.” He lays a tender kiss on Grantaire’s lips. “And then this,” he says, kissing Grantaire again, but with more force this time. Grantaire moans.

“Beyond that,” he manages in between kisses, and it’s his turn to smile now. “What else, _Professor?_ ”

Enjolras’s eyes dilate. “He said he’d get down on his knees,” he says, voice low as he kneels, “and suck me off.”

He drags down the zipper of Grantaire’s trousers, and Grantaire is gone.

“Fuck, Enjolras,” he says, throwing his head back against the wall. “ _Fuck_ , please.”

Enjolras smiles wickedly and sets to work.

\-----

“So… I guess Enjolras… knows about Grantaire’s feelings?”

Feuilly, Bahorel, Courfeyrac and a reluctant Combeferre are gathered outside of the classroom that Enjolras and Grantaire are currently occupying.

Courfeyrac is pale, but smiling wickedly. “Oh, yes. _Oh_ , yes. This is _gold_.”

Combeferre shakes his head. “You’re awful, Courf,” he says from the other side of the hall.

Bahorel is trying to hide his laughter.

“Hey, what are you - what are you all doing here?”

Marius, one of the language professors and a new hire, has poked his head out from his classroom. Courfeyrac buckles over, giggling silently.

“You’ve... missed a lot,” Feuilly remarks, and Marius scratches his head.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly, and Courfeyrac laughs harder.

Feuilly rolls his eyes and takes both Bahorel and Courfeyrac by their elbows, dragging them down the hall. Combeferre follows, shaking his head. Marius is still standing in the doorway, looking confused.

He’s the only one who sees Enjolras and Grantaire walk nonchalantly out of the room, Grantaire straightening his collar and buttoning his shirt and Enjolras putting his hair up in a bun. They kiss quickly before parting ways. Neither of them seem to see Marius standing there, mouth slightly open.

Marius thinks he gets it now.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> say hello on [tumblr](http://grantairricade.tumblr.com)!


End file.
